


火花 (spark)

by tender_sushijima



Series: sakuatsu [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Dancer, Gen, Love at First Sight, M/M, Soldiers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:27:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29465757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tender_sushijima/pseuds/tender_sushijima
Summary: Atsumu doesn't think much for himself and he's fine that way. He's always known he would dedicate his life to his country, willing to give up his body and soul if it meant safety for his people.Then, he sees a spark in the dark. It gives him a reason to live, to desire something for himself.
Relationships: Ginjima Hitoshi & Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu & Suna Rintarou, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: sakuatsu [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2161872
Kudos: 20
Collections: SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021





	火花 (spark)

**Author's Note:**

> If you like to turn the boys into dancers just to get that extra oomph and obliterate yourself because they're extra hot as dancers, then this is a story for you.

They call him ‘Hwaa’. The reading of his name is ‘Hibana’, meaning ‘spark’, but Atsumu figures it’s too archaic for someone regarded as the most exotic dancer in the whole nation.

“Yeah, and he’s also priceless. You can bid the longest chain of numbers and they’ll never let you have him,” Ginjima tells him in a hushed tone, wary of the guards’ watchful eyes as they pass by. Once they’ve emerged onto the vast courtyard and guaranteed more privacy amidst the throng of people, he adds with awe, “Not even the King could have him.”

“That’s how prestigious he is?” Suna gasps beside him. He doesn’t notice Atsumu’s flinch from his sudden appearance. “I’m expecting a lot, then. We came all the way here just for some entertainment when we could have spent the night feasting and drinking. Does the King think we won the battle by sitting around and watching women dance in our free time?”

“It’s just courtesy, Sunarin. The King wants us to be comfortable during our stay. That’s what a coalition brings to the table.”

“Thanks for the unsolicited political lecture, _Samu_. Also, please refrain from calling me that.”

“You love the nickname.” Osamu sidesteps to avoid Suna’s punch, crossing his arms as he scans the crowd swimming into a mass before them. “I was hoping for an escort, at the very least. How are we supposed to find a spot?”

“We do have an escort.”

Atsumu flinches again, and this time, he makes a point to shoot the offender a reproachful glare. He regrets doing so.

Kita’s eyebrows barely shift, but all four of his subordinates freeze. He doesn’t comment, nodding at the distance. “There he is.”

A man in dark green robes stops before them, hands on his knees as he catches his breath. His short hair is mussed and stray strands are sticking onto his sweaty forehead, resembling a nest, but they don’t distract from the bright shine in his wide eyes. “My sincerest apologies for being late! One of my dancers was experiencing chest pains so I had to sort that out before coming here,” he says in between pants, bowing haggardly. When he stands upright, he beams at Kita and bows firmly, feet close together. “Good evening, Lord Kita. Thank you for taking the time to come here with your men. I am Komori Motoya and I was assigned by the King to be your official escort during your stay in Itachiyama. Allow me to show you to your seats.”

“Thank you, Komori,” Kita smiles. The rest of them naturally follow him in formation, a jarring contrast next to the rowdy spectators.

“Nice, we get seats,” Osamu rubs his palms.

“That’s what you’re focused on?” Ginjima squints at him. “I hope they’re good seats. I don’t want to miss out on the show.”

“Who cares about the show? I’m tired. We’ve been at war for almost a week. A chair beats a dirty ground and a horse.”

“Eating beats all that, Samu,” Suna huffs, turning away. “If they serve us food after this, I might forgive the King’s lack of interest in running the country.”

Both Ginjima and Osamu smack Suna’s either sides, while Atsumu manages a small disapproving grimace. Though quiet, he shares their opinions. A week-long war is only the size of a pea next to the four-year-old conflict it’s induced by, but it’s still war, nonetheless. Atsumu’s usual chipper disposition is exclusive to daytime as he likes sleeping early, much to the amusement of his peers, so he’s happy with just being able to sit. He’s happy enough to not have to constantly watch his back for an hour or two, entertained or not.

Turns out, they get front row seats, a little forward from the King’s on a raised platform and next to his soldiers, their allies and temporary brothers in arm. Kita and his commanders engage with them while the four simply relish in sitting on a stable and plane surface. None of the other soldiers speak to them and neither do they try to start a conversation, which suits them fine. It’ll save them more trouble once the war is over and their coalition no longer serves a purpose, no potential betrayal hanging over their heads because they’ve made friends with their enemies.

Atsumu would’ve dozed off automatically if not for Ginjima’s vigorous poking on his right forearm, where an ache has made itself home.

“Gin…” he groans, rubbing his eyes grumpily. “It better be food that you’re waking me up for.”

“Even better—Hwaa is here. Look, he’s the one at the center.”

Atsumu had frankly forgotten about the dancer in his fatigue, but he’s never made an effort to remember anything not concerning battle plans. Having joined the military since as far young as he could remember meant leaving very little space for other things, much less personal joy. He looks anyway, wide awake from the noticeable silence. Nobody is talking, not even the commoners who’ve been jostling about. Suna is rigid on his other side, jaw tight out of the desperate need to say something snarky suppressed by the oppressive hush.

There are nine dancers in total, equally spread out and in the same attire, but the one at the center stands out for a number of reasons. Atsumu notes all of them in his head, then only realizes why there are that many reasons. Hwaa is the only male dancer among them, standing tall in a vibrant red robe.

A flute plays, seconds after which is joined by the percussions. It’s loud enough to make his heart beat along. The female dancers are all practically identical with their matching garments and hairstyles, which means the main show is not just the dance; it’s Hwaa at the center.

A string instrument begins after the flute and percussions stop, its gentle tones floating around them. Atsumu’s eyes couldn’t leave Hwaa now that he sticks out like a sore thumb, but more so after he removes the black cloth covering half his face. He’s become fully awake and aware of Hwaa, who’s completely caught him off-guard by the sheer dominance of his presence, when there’s a tug in his chest. Someone is singing, a woman, but Atsumu couldn’t care less for how her voice is able to propel itself and be audible over the music. He anxiously presses a hand where he felt it, confused by the sudden throb.

“Are you okay?” Ginjima asks, to which he nods. “Great, because I honestly don’t want to miss this for anything, not even for your health.”

Atsumu scowls, earning a chuckle, but Ginjima’s not wrong. Not even Atsumu himself would want to miss the dance for anything.

The performance is as short as it’s long, which is to say that Atsumu has no recollection that it happened. He hears the music, feels it vibrate in his veins, sees the flutter of black cloths in the air and the swishing of red with every movement, yet none of them register in his memories. He couldn’t conjure up a single detail even if his life depended on it, which is bad because something’s telling him that it’s important. That he’s not supposed to walk away and brush it off as another failed attempt of the world to make him desire something for himself and not his nation.

Suna is the first to speak once they’re dismissed, as usual. “You know what? I guess it was a good show.” He shrugs when they stop and stare at him. “What? They’re good.”

Osamu smirks. “Are you flustered?”

“I’ll dropkick you here.”

Ginjima laughs. “I’ve heard stuff about Hwaa from the local soldiers, but I never thought he’s really everything that they’ve said. He’s all that and more.”

Osamu nods, kicking stray pebbles around his shoes. “Borrowing the wise words of Alan, _that’s a flower right there_.”

Suna frowns at that. “Flowers don’t bloom at night,” he says.

“Exactly. He’s a flower that blooms at night, meaning he’s the one and only of his kind.”

Indeed he is, and the more Atsumu thinks about it, even his name befits him. ‘Hwaa’ can also be read as ‘fire flower’, which is what he was. Wearing a bold red top accentuated by a shiny black and gauzy white underdress, he pranced on the makeshift stage like a flower opening up and turning towards the sun. Atsumu’s not the eloquent one of them—that’s Alan’s job—but he’s sure there are more ways that best describe Hwaa than just _a flower_.

Suddenly, everything surges back into his memories and he’s able to call up the sights he’d seen. Hwaa’s pale complexion that gleams like pearl in between the dark outfit and his even darker hair, smooth compared to the rough fabrics and unruly strands. The women standing around him in a circle weren’t able to take away his aura, so when Hwaa did step forward and take the spotlight, it only proved Atsumu’s hypothesis right in regards to the arrangement of their gender ratio and their formation. Hwaa is the forbidden flower that wasn’t meant to be, the one that has to be hidden away to not be found, but which cannot be treated as such because he’s meant to stand out.

It’s in the evident grace of his gestures that none of the women possessed; from the curves of his limbs to the tips of his fingers, he showed that he deserves to be the lead. The way he strode past the two rows of upheld black cloths, his hands reaching through to push two aside, revealing his eyes that seemed to have locked onto Atsumu’s from the moment he took his position at the forefront.

There was red smeared over his eyelids. It’d both softened and hardened his facial features and expressions, and Atsumu feels the tug again. Stronger, tighter, right where his heart is. Hwaa has a beautiful pair of eyes. It’s too bad that they’re curtained by his long fringe.

“Atsu? You look like you’re about to keel over and die. Are you really okay?”

He turns to his brother, removing his hand from his chest to wave a hand dismissively. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

“You’re a bad liar, you know that, right?” Osamu sighs, shaking his head. “We’re going to the physician’s first thing tomorrow morning. Kita’s orders. You’re first, just like you’ve always been.”

“Maybe if you stopped sulking every time I get vanguard positions, you’ll get it for once.”

Osamu dropkicks him on the empty road, but it doesn’t hurt his side as much as his heart does.

**Author's Note:**

> Uuuummmmm I've been listening to (G)I-DLE's "[HWAA](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z3szNvgQxHo)" for four hours straight since I found it on Saturday. It's amazing. So amazing that it brought me down Memory Lane and made this happen. Other inspirations are from VIXX N's "[Fate](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_fGAXrexmJk)" performance and NCT Ten's "[Dream In A Dream](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V4gCv1CifJg)". I'm totally sold on the concept of dancer!Sakusa. I needed it to soothe my worn out spirit, and I got it.
> 
> I had a lot more in mind but I didn't have enough time and I'm already rushing to do my school work, but feel free to make guesses. Only I know the rest of the story, though, hehe.
> 
> As usual, I'm on [insta](https://www.instagram.com/tender_sushijima/). My latest post has an image of them.


End file.
